


light my candle

by sadlybunny



Series: musical theatre things [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Past Drug Addiction, dan howell is a stripper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:55:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28435728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadlybunny/pseuds/sadlybunny
Summary: Dan's heat gets shut off, so he heads downstairs to his neighbor's flat for a match. There's something about this boy that's so familiar...(literally just light my candle from rent but its dnp)
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Series: musical theatre things [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2082846
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	light my candle

**Author's Note:**

> so. no rent plot points apply except any explicitly mentioned in this. i dont own rent (obvs) but i feel like thats something people always say before these types of fics. anyways, lovelies, you can listen to the song [here](https://youtu.be/c7H1zqvKObM) if you’d like. its not a requirement but it does SLAP. also please be aware that this fic discusses addiction/use of drugs.

Phil began picking up plates and glasses that were strewn over his coffee table as soon as the door closed. Pj had just left from a pleasant night of some video games and takeaway, but he always seems to be around now that Liam is gone, distracting Phil with (delicious) trash pizza and letting him win in Mario Kart. He’s got an arm full of dishes when there’s a knock at the door, so he simply shouts “come in!” so he doesn’t have to get the door for him. He assumes Pj had left his coat or something, since he only left about five or so minutes ago. He gets elbow deep into some soapy sink water before he hears the doorknob turn.

“What'd you forget, Peej?” He says as the door opens, scrubbing the dishes in the sink. He hears the door shut behind him.

“Got a light?”

Phil startles. That’s definitely not Pj’s voice. It’s soft and southern, and Phil peeks around the corner of his kitchen to see a small, pale young boy standing awkwardly in his lounge with his arms crossed over his chest.

“You-” Phil blinks, stepping away from the sink and drying his hands before rushing over to the small boy. “You’re shivering.”

“They turned off my heat,” He holds up a short, thick candle in his left hand. “Could you light this for me?”

Phil blinks. He’s never seen this neighbor before, but for some reason something in his eyes is very alluring. Or maybe it’s something about the freckles that dot his pale neck. His eyes are glossy, but his pupils look unusually small. There’s a bead of sweat on his forehead, but he’s shivering. Phil recognizes these symptoms. He’s had them himself. His heart pangs when he looks at this boy, he’s too young to be an addict. His eyes flick up to the mess of curly hair on his head, which shines a bit blue with the light coming in through the bay window. There’s something about those curls, that youngness and innocence, that sends a jolt of deja vu through Phil. 

“Hello?” Phil snaps out of his trance, shaking his head a bit to try to refocus his eyes on the boy’s. “What are you staring at?”

Phil clears his throat. “Nothing. Your hair…” Phil is distracted again by the mop of curls on the young boy’s head. “In the moonlight. Something about it...you look familiar.”

Just then, the frail boy seems to lose all strength in his legs. Phil catches him by the arm, and pulls him back up to his feet.

He’s so young. Phil can feel the bone of his upper arm even with his soft grip. He guides him to lean against the counter as he locates a pack of matches. He takes one of the few left out and lights the small single wicked candle that the boy’s got in a death grip. 

“Will you make it back to your flat?” 

The boy nods fervently. “I just haven't eaten much today. Don’t worry, the room’s stopped spinning,” He huffs a laugh, shaking his head a bit. Those shiny curls flop around on his head, and Phil is enchanted again. He has a beautiful smile. “What?”

“Nothing,” Phil shakes his head. “For a second, I guess, your smile reminded me of...”

The boy hums knowingly. “I always seem to. Who is he?”

“Uhm,” Phil hesitates to share his dramatic life story with this stranger right away. But something about those doe eyes, gazing up at him, make the words slip out. “He died. His name was Liam.”

“Shit.” The boy curses, turning to face Phil. “It's out again. Sorry about your friend, mate. Would you light my candle?”

The last sentence comes out a bit breathy for the context, Phil thinks. The boy takes a few steps closer to Phil, holding the candle out in front of him. 

“Uh.” He lights it quickly. There’s not many matches left.

He smiles devilishly, tilting his face up a bit at Phil. “Yeah? Ow!”

“Oh, the wax. It’s-”

“Dripping.” He licks his lips. “I like it between my-”

“Fingers.” Phil interrupts. “I figured…” He puts a hand on the small of the boy’s back and ushers him to the door. “Well, goodnight.” 

The boy opens his mouth as if to stop Phil, but he shuts the door in his face before he can say anything.

Phil blows out a breath of relief. He turns in order to return to the washing up, when there's another knock at the door. He sighs before slumping back against it. It’s definitely not the best idea to open the door right now.

He opens the door.

“It blew out again?” 

“No,” The boy pushes past Phil into his flat. “I think that I dropped my stash.”

“I know I've seen you out and about, at least, when I used to go out,” The thin boy is walking around Phil’s flat, face turned to the floor and searching. “Your candle's out.”

He sets the candle on the breakfast bar and huffs. Phil turns to light it again. “I must be going mad. I had it when I walked in…” He starts circling the sofa and peeking around it. “It was pure-” He mumbles to himself, wringing his hands together. “Is it down here?”

“The floor?”

The boy drops to his knees first, then lower onto his elbows to check under the sofa. 

Phil can’t help but appreciate the view. He’s dressed in a large t-shirt that’s basically a dress, with black joggers underneath. As he’s bent down, the shirt rides up to show off his backside. He’s pressing his own face against the floor, and Phil thinks it’s in his twisted imagination that he’s arching his back and wiggling his bum slightly, until-

“They say I have the best arse below 14th street. Is it true?”

“What?”

“You're staring again.” The boy smiles, sitting up on his ankles.

“Oh, no. I mean,” Phil clears his throat. “You do- have a nice… I mean. You look familiar.”

“Mm.” He stands again, picking his candle back up from the counter. “Like your dead boyfriend.”

Phil shakes his head. “Only when you smile. But I'm sure I've seen you somewhere else.”

The boy sighs as if he was resigning himself to something. “Do you go to the Cat Scratch Club? That's where I work. I dance.”

“Yes!” Memories come flooding back. All those nights after Liam died. Flashing lights and sweat and-

Phil shifts uncomfortably as his body seems to take an interest in those memories. “They used to tie you up-”

“It's a living.” He interrupts, crossing his arms back over his chest, unlit candle still in one hand.

Phil remembers it all- the way the boy’s thin body worked around the pole on the stage. There were purple and blue lights- just like the way the moon is shining on him tonight. His hair was pressed straight, but the longer he was on the stage, the sweatier he got, and the curlier his hair became. Phil remembers how- how he jumped off the stage and-

_”Hey, sexy.”_

_“Heyy, pretty kitty,” He slurs. The boy jumps into his lap, thighs on either side of Phil’s. “What’s your name?”_

_He leans down to speak directly into Phil’s ear, his melodic voice overtaking the pounding bass of the club. “I like that. Call me Kitty.”_

_He lifts his hands to trap Phil’s neck with the chain of his fuzzy handcuffs. He pulls Phil’s face into his neck. “You wanna dance, sexy?”_

_Phil hums, the alcohol in his system pulling a dopey grin onto his face. He pulls out a wad of notes and shoves them into the boy’s thigh high boots._

_“Show me whatcha got, Kitty.”_

“I didn't recognize you without the handcuffs.”

A slight pink tinge appears on the young boy’s cheeks. He returns to his search for his stash, scanning the floors and moving cushions on his sofa. “Help me find it and maybe we can share.”

“Why don't you forget that stuff,” Phil suggests. “You look like you're sixteen.”

The boy scoffs. “I'm nineteen, thank you. But I'm mature for my age.”

“I was like you once,” Phil looks over the frail boy, shaking as he shifts things around in Phil’s flat. “I used to shiver like that.”

He doesn’t turn to face Phil, instead directs his gaze to his left. “I have no heat. I told you.” He spits. 

“I used to sweat.”

“I have a cold.”

“Uh huh,” Phil nods, making his way over to the shaking boy. “I used to be a junkie.”

The boy presses his body back against Phil’s front. “Now and then, I like to...feel good...”

A glint of something underneath his table catches Phil’s eye. He leans down to pick it up quickly and sticks it in his pocket. He doesn’t know why, really. He’s not going to use it- he’s been clean for over four years now. But something inside him wants to keep the young boy from going as far as he did. He can already tell he’s going through withdrawals. 

“What's that?” He spins around to face Phil.

“Oh it’s-it's a candy bar wrapper.” He moves over to the sofa and sits down.

The boy sighs at Phil, obviously not convinced. He picks up the unlit candle again, and holds it out to Phil. “Please?”

“That was my last match.” 

The boy moves over to Phil, pressing against his side on the sofa.

“Our eyes'll adjust, thank God for the moon.” He nods over to the window. The moon is especially bright tonight, and combined with the streetlights, it’s not completely dark inside his flat.

“Maybe it's not the moon.” The boy turns to face Phil, tilting his head just slightly. Phil’s eyes drift to the slight dusting of freckles that cover the highest points of his cheeks. He stares at Phil questioningly, which brings him back into the moment quickly. “I mean, they could be shooting a Christmas film or something. There’s tons of snow.”

“Bah humbug.” He mutters, letting his head drop to the back of the sofa. He turns his face to Phil's and there noses nearly brush together. They breathe the same air for a moment, as Phil is captured in those eyes once again.

Phil sits up a bit then, leaning into the boy a bit more. He looks tired, Phil notes, and surely not like he’s bothered by the season save for the chills it brings him at night. But he does look sweet and soft, and Phil can’t stop himself from reaching for the boy's hand.

“Cold hands.” He notes.

“Yours too,” He squeezes Phil’s hand, then brings it up to his face. Phil almost thinks he’s going to kiss his knuckles or something ridiculous like that, until he speaks up. “Big. Like my father's.”

He stands, pulling Phil up with him as best he can with his frail arms. “You wanna dance?”

Phil scrunches his eyes in confusion. His eyebrow twitches as the memories of those nights in the club return to him again. “With you?”

The boy sighs a gorgeous laugh. “No,” He drags Phil closer, pressing their chests together and keeping his arms around Phil’s neck. “With my father.”

He actually giggles. “I’m Phil.”

The boy snatches one of Phil’s hands from his waist, and spins him around twice. Phil stumbles on his feet, but lands- with a small trip- nose to nose with the boy. “Call me Dan.” He winks, shaking the bag he swiped from Phil’s back pocket during their dance. He exits Phil’s flat, swaying his hips slightly before shutting the door behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> comments n kudos always appreciated <3  
> come say hi on tumblr [@sadlybunny](https://www.sadlybunny.tumblr.com) and we can fantasize about the forever home  
> -bunny x


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